Not For Sale. Sandra Marton
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flinched. Hell, she turned pale. Lucas felt a twinge of guilt. She wasn’t a pro. And he was behaving like an ass. It had been a long day and it was going to be an even longer evening, but why let it out on her?
“Look,” he said, “you’re a beautiful woman. I’m flattered that you’d like to have a drink, dinner, whatever—”
“No,” she said quickly, “that’s not—”
“I’m meeting someone. On business. Your timing is off, okay?”
Those hazel eyes turned cold.
“You have an interesting opinion of yourself, mister.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows. “Hey, I’m not the one who—”
“I’m not interested in a drink. Or dinner.” The woman drew herself up, steel suddenly in her spine and in her voice. “Actually, I’d sooner have drinks with—with SpongeBob Squarepants than someone as rude and self-centered as you.”
Lucas blinked. Then, despite himself, he laughed.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” She tossed her head and strands of her hair fell against her cheek. He fought back the insane desire to take those strands between his fingers and tuck them back behind her ear. “And what’s so amusing? Do you like having people tell you what you are to your face?”
“No one ever does,” he said. “No one would dare.”
Her smile was sweet enough to make his teeth ache. And to make him grin.
“What a pity.”
“You’re right. I owe you an apology. I’m in a bad mood but that’s no reason to take it out on you.”
He could see her trying to decide whether or not to accept his request for forgiveness. Suddenly, it seemed important that she would.
“Truce?” he said, holding out his hand.
She hesitated. Then her lips curved in a smile. She put her hand in his and he could have sworn he felt a jolt of electricity.
“Truce.”
“Good.” He smiled back at her. “Look, this really is a bad time. Why don’t I give you my card? Call me tomorrow. Better still, give me your number and—”
The blonde tugged her hand free.
“You don’t get it.” The steel was back in her voice. “I’m not trying to—to pick you up. I’m supposed to meet someone here. On business, the same as you.”
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “A man?” he said slowly. She nodded. “And what does he look like?”
“Well, that’s just it. I don’t know. I mean, I’ve never met him. But I’m pretty sure he’s middle-aged. And probably, well, probably not very good-looking. And…Why are you looking at me like that?”
“What’s this middle-aged, homely guy’s name?”
The blonde’s chin lifted. “I don’t think that’s any of your—”
“Is it, by any chance, Lucas Vieira?”
Her mouth fell open.
“Ohmygod,” she said, “ohmygod!”
“Don’t tell me,” Lucas said slowly. “You can’t be…Dani Sinclair?”
The woman looked as if she might faint.
“You’re right,” she said. “I can’t be Dani Sinclair. But I am.”
Impossible, Caroline thought.
No. Not impossible.
Insane. This entire thing, from the minute Dani had called her, right up until now.
This was Lucas Vieira? This tall, dark-haired, absolutely spectacular hunk? She’d noticed him instantly. And she wasn’t the only one. The lobby was crowded. It was a Friday night, warm even for early June, and it seemed as if everybody was out for the evening.
There must have been a couple of dozen women milling around with their dates, their husbands and boyfriends, and from what she’d been able to see, every one of them managed to shoot little assessing looks at the gorgeous guy standing all by himself.
He’d been watching the door, as if he was waiting for someone.
Okay, she’d thought. He was alone, he was waiting for someone.
But he couldn’t be Lucas Vieira.
A man who looked like that wouldn’t need to hire a woman to pretend to be his date. True, there was more to it than that, Lucas Vieira needed a date who could translate Russian—even more bizarre, really—but whatever the situation, this was not her guy.
If only he was…
And, even as she’d thought the words, she’d realized his eyes were focused on her. Her heart had thumped; she’d felt a rush of heat in her breasts, in her belly, in her blood. It went with the way she’d been feeling since leaving her apartment, as if she had stepped into a different reality, assuming another woman’s identity, wearing her clothes, about to meet a stranger and pretend she was his girlfriend.
The stranger’s eyes had seemed to narrow. He’d taken a step forward.
Caroline had torn her gaze from his and set out blindly through the crowd, heading anywhere but in his direction. She had to concentrate on finding Lucas Vieira, but how to identify him? Dani hadn’t described him beyond saying he’d be alone and that he was incredibly rich.
The “incredibly rich” tag could probably be hung on most of the men in the lobby, but none of them were alone—except for the one whose eyes had blazed with fire when he’d looked at her.
Could he be the guy she was supposed to meet? Unless she’d missed something, he was the only man by himself. And he’d been watching the door with such intensity.
There was only one way to find out.
She’d taken a deep breath. And another. Then she’d walked up to him, said “excuse me” as politely as possible…Someone had jostled her. She’d teetered on the ridiculous heels. The stranger’s hand—Lucas Vieira’s hand—had closed around her elbow, steadying her. She’d already teetered once tonight, getting into the cab that had brought her here.
Then, all she’d thought was how huge a sum she’d owe Dani if she fell and tore this dress.
Now, all she could think of was the burn of this man’s fingers on her skin.
Her heart began to race. She tried to step back and he caught hold of her hand again.
“Careful,” he said. “This mob is like a herd of wildebeest on the Serengeti. They’d trample you before they knew they’d done it.”
It was such an accurate description that Caroline laughed.
“That’s good. You have to relax. We won’t be able to pull this off unless you’re at ease with me.”
Her smile faded. This was business. How could she have forgotten that, even for an instant?
“You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”
Business, for sure. The smile, the charm, the I’m-male, you’re-female thing had vanished.
“I know. But the traffic—”
“I’d wanted a little time for us to get a feel for each other.”
She already had a feel for him. Not just rich but disgustingly rich. Not just good-looking but fantastically good-looking. Charming when he wanted to be, bitingly cold when he thought that would work better.
Oh, yes, she had a feel for that kind of man.
Her